


Sacrament

by zaphodsgirl



Series: Forgive Me, Father [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Priest Castiel (Supernatural), Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Father Castiel gets permission to take a weekend off, and can't wait to tell Dean about it.





	Sacrament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Busy (BusySquirrel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusySquirrel/gifts).



> Just a note to the reader: I have at least two more installments of this planned, possibly three, but this is not on a planned schedule. I try to keep them to small snippets as I have time. Thank you for your patience.

Castiel is extremely aware of his limbs as he sits in the Monsignor's office, waiting for him to finish reading the request for leave. He can feel the tension in his arms as he tries to convey a relaxed posture, hands clasped loosely in his lap, consciously trying not to clench them together. He curls his toes inside his shoes instead, hidden out of his superior's sight both by the leather of his loafers and the heavy oak of the desk he's sitting across from. Curl, hold, release, flex. He can feel the stretch of muscles in his ankles as he spreads his toes as much as he can, then begins the process over again. Curl. _Breathe in._ Hold. _Breathe out._ Release. _Breathe in._ Flex. _Don't bite your lip._

"Well, I'm pleased to see that you are finally going to take proper time to see your family, Father Castiel," the man says as he puts the letter aside. "When was the last time you were home?"

"Three years this coming Christmas, Monsignor."

It had not been a pleasant visit, but Castiel had not had a pleasant upbringing, so the atmosphere was to be expected. What he _hadn't_ expected was the argument, and the shouting, and the resolve he found to never go back home again. 

"I'm glad you have the opportunity to mend fences with them. Perhaps they have come to see that they need your faith after all. It is never too late to bring a lamb back into the flock."

"Yes, sir," he answers automatically. He knows his family feel the same way. They had been trying for years to bring him back into their fold: give up the priesthood, go into the family business, become an influential and powerful member of society. That Christmas, after he rebuffed their demands yet again, his oldest brother Michael had threatened him; so far he had not made good on his threat, and Castiel hoped that his continued absence would keep it that way.

"You leave, let's see...next Friday?"

"Yes, sir, in the evening, when my regular tasks for the day are finished."

"And return the following Monday night, I see. Well, you can rest assured that your duties will be handled in your absence."

"Thank you. If all goes well, would it be possible for me to go and visit with some regularity?" 

"Certainly."

"Good. That's good." Castiel can barely hide the joy that washes over him.

"Go and enjoy your visit with my blessing, Father Castiel," the Monsignor says with a gentle smile, and Castiel takes it for the dismissal it is, a light sweat of excitement breaking out on his brow as he walks back to his car. 

It is strange, he thinks, that he turned his back on his family so firmly for the sake of the cloth, and is now using his family as cover to violate his vows. He knows he should feel guilt at how easily he has taken to sins both big and small (and he does feel a small twinge of shame at having lied to his superior's face), but it is soon replaced with excitement as he anticipates telling Dean the news. Impatience makes him think about calling to tell him, but Castiel decides against it, knowing he doesn't want to miss the look on Dean's face when he hears.

The weeks always move unbearably slow now that he and Dean have become lovers, but this week feels especially tedious. It takes everything he has to maintain the speed limit as he finally drives to Dean's house on Friday evening. He parks in his usual spot, hidden out of sight, and practically runs up the stairs to throw open the door and stumble into the kitchen. 

"Cas?" Dean says, bolting into the kitchen in alarm. "I'm glad you finally learned you don't have to knock, but are you okay? You're all flushed." He doesn't get out another word because Castiel presses him into a chair and straddles his lap, devouring his lips and grinding against him with abandon. Dean asks no questions, instead wrapping his arms around Castiel and pulling him closer, letting himself be mauled on his own kitchen chair as Castiel lets all the excited tension of the past few days melt out of him with Dean's touches. He finally pulls away, breathing hard, looking down as the stunned expression on Dean's face is replaced with a slow smile. 

"You got permission, didn't you?" 

"Yes," Castiel says breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Dean's and running his fingers through his hair. "I can stay with you all next weekend, from Friday until Monday." 

" _All_ weekend?" 

"Oh." Castiel pulls away, suddenly worried at his presumption. "I would have to fly to see my family, so my excuse wouldn't work if I just spent one night with them. Um, if you're uncomfortable with me staying _every_ night I can always just get a...mmmph." Dean shuts him up with another kiss, squeezing his ass in one hand. 

"That was an exclamation of excitement, not dread, you dork," he finally says when he comes up for air. 

"Oh," Castiel responds with a silly grin. 

"Come on." Dean pushes Castiel off his lap, taking his hand and dragging him up the stairs and into the bedroom, then divesting him of his clothing. Castiel reclines on the bed in nothing but his boxers as Dean hurriedly strips off his own shirt and jeans, eyeing Castiel with hunger as he crawls over him. He presses their bodies together from hip to toe, and Castiel gasps when Dean's evident arousal presses into his thigh.

"You seem very excited," Castiel says breathlessly, and Dean hides his face in the column of Castiel's throat, mouthing at the skin of his neck. 

"Can't help it. I want you so much."

"You have me. You could have had me before, if you just..."

"No," Dean says firmly, pulling away to look at him, stroking his collarbone. "It wouldn't feel right to me, to be with you like that, and watch you leave for the night. Not with you." 

Castiel doesn't know how to respond to that, so instead he puts his arms around Dean's waist, pulling him close before rolling him into his back. 

"Let me take care of you first this time, Dean," he says, pressing his thigh against that tempting hardness, watching with satisfaction as Dean closes his eyes and moans. "Please." Dean nods, and Castiel takes him by the wrists, pressing them over his head and nibbling at his jaw before whispering in his ear. "Don't move." 

He presses a kiss into the hollow of Dean's throat, can feel him swallow in anticipation, then moves languorously down his torso. He stops to lave at Dean's nipples, bringing them to hard peaks before blowing on them softly, one after the other. He presses wet, open-mouthed kisses all along Dean's ribs, the saliva shining wetly on his skin like markers along a trail. Most of the time they spend together Castiel is happy to let Dean take charge, but Dean's reaction to his news makes him feel powerful, bold. He grasps the waistband of Dean's boxers just above each hip, as he nuzzles the fine trail of hair that disappears beneath them, then mouths at the damp cotton covering Dean's erection. 

Even now, with the heady scent of Dean's lust filling his nostrils, he can't believe this is actually happening. That the object of all his awakened desire is beneath his hands, at the mercy of his tongue, Castiel's own idol of flesh to worship. He carefully pulls the boxer briefs over Dean's hardness, sliding them over the swell of his ass as he lifts it off the bed, then debates whether to take them off or leave them at mid-thigh. He likes the idea of restraining Dean even so minimally, but the desire to see him relaxed and able to give himself over completely makes Castiel remove them instead. 

Dean lets his legs fall open with a small sigh, and as Castiel tosses the boxers to the floor he takes a moment to just gaze at the bared form of the man before him. There's no part of Dean that he doesn't marvel at: the soft freckles that dust his shoulders and dot his chest, the rugged dark hair in the pits of his arms as he keeps them stretched above his head, the muscles that flex in his thighs below another thatch of dark hair. He sheds his own boxers before he gets comfortable between those thighs, first splaying his hands over them, feeling the sinew twitch beneath his palms as they move up to circle the firm bone of Dean's hips. Castiel rests on his stomach, feet dangling off the foot of the bed, letting his elbows drape over Dean's legs as he breathes on his semi-rigid cock, then teases it to full hardness with just the tip of his tongue: first lapping at the base, then tracing a vein up to the tip, teasing the frenulum before moving to the slit. By now Dean's member is standing at full attention, and Castiel takes just the tip of it into his mouth, treating it the way he did Dean's nipples: sucking hard, then blowing cool air across the tip and feeling Dean tense beneath him as he takes a ragged breath. 

He continues in this manner, while pressing one knuckle against Dean’s perineum with varying pressure, and it's not until Dean finally whispers his name on a ragged exhale that Castiel swallows him down as much as he can. He is not good at this, he knows -- not yet, not the way he would like to be -- but Dean has never voiced any complaint, and judging by the way his legs tense up he's curling his toes at the sensation of Castiel's hot and eager mouth around his dick.

Dean's moans are like music, and Castiel the conductor of a sensual symphony meant only to pleasure. He can feel his own hardness now pressing into the mattress, but he's too focused on Dean beneath his hands, in his mouth, on his tongue; and when Dean finally places a hand on Castiel's head in warning it feels like a benediction. He waits until he can feel the burst of Dean's release against the back of his throat, and then he replaces his mouth with his hand, watching in awe as pulse after pulse of semen splashes against his chin and runs down his hand.

He hears a groan, and tears his gaze away to meet Dean's eyes right before he closes them and drops his head back against the pillow.

"That is so fucking hot," he says, like he's making an announcement rather than speaking just to the man who holds his softening dick in his hand, and Castiel feels a surge of triumph. "Can I move now?" Castiel nods, and Dean finally moves his hands from over his head to frame Castiel's face, using his thumb to wipe the come off his chin. Castiel licks his lower lip in reflex, tasting the bitter salt of semen, and Dean blinks several times. "Jesus."

"Not exactly."

Dean grins widely, moving his hands to Castiel's upper arms, practically dragging him up the bed and turning them until they're on their sides, face to face. "Did you just sass me, Father?" Hearing Dean address him by his title after what just occurred is a blasphemy that he should probably not find so arousing, but his dick jumps between them and Dean's grin turns wicked as his eyes shift downward. "Let me take care of that for you," he says in a low voice, eyes flicking back up to lock with his. "Father."

Dean's eyes bore into his, never breaking contact as he pulls a bottle of lube from beneath the pillow, coating his left hand liberally with the substance before wrapping his fingers around Castiel's throbbing length. Castiel gasps at the sensation, of the cool lubricant on his hot flesh, then groans at the firm grip of Dean's hand. He works Castiel slowly, twisting his hand as he strokes from base to tip, then plunges back down to repeat the movement at a deliberate pace for minutes on end. It's a slow torture that finds Castiel's pleasure building towards a precipice even so, and he reaches out to grasp Dean's bicep, grounding himself as he teeters on the edge of it. 

"Not yet, _Father_ ," Dean growls, gripping his cock at the base to stave off his orgasm, and Castiel whimpers as he finally closes his eyes for a moment to collect himself, breathing out as Dean removes his hand. Dean reaches down to hook his fingers behind Castiel's knee, pulling his leg over his own hip and bringing them closer together. Castiel's eyes fly open again as he hears the click of the cap on the bottle of lube, and he watches Dean apply even more of it to his first two fingers, then glances up to catch the spark in his eyes and the wicked grin on his face. 

"Hold out your right hand," Dean says, then pours a generous amount of lube onto Castiel's own palm before dropping the bottle behind him. "I think it's time I give you a taste of what you'll be in for next weekend. It's never too soon to prepare." He reaches behind Castiel as he says this, circling his rim with the tip of one finger, lightly pressing as their gaze locks once again. Castiel swallows, feeling the muscle twitch in anticipation, but Dean does nothing more than caress until Castiel finally nods. 

"Please, Dean." 

"Touch yourself, Cas." Castiel wraps his lubricated hand around his own cock, hissing again as the cool liquid touches his overheated flesh. He feels Dean press at his rim more insistently now, and then insert the tip of one finger, staring at Castiel's face all the while. "You have to tell me if you want me to stop, Castiel. Do you understand?"

"Don't stop, Dean," he says breathlessly as he strokes himself, but Dean shakes his head gently, moving just that fingertip in and out ever so slightly.

"I mean it. Fantasizing about a thing isn't the same as actually getting it. The minute you aren't enjoying it, you say so. Okay?"

Castiel nods rapidly, then utters a ragged acknowledgement that turns into a pleasured moan as Dean's finger sinks in to the last knuckle.

"Oh my god," he groans, and Dean laughs lowly. Castiel strokes himself faster as Dean's finger pulls out completely, circles his rim, then presses all the way back in once, twice, three times... "Faster, damn it," he growls, trying to press back on that finger, and Dean obliges, matching Castiel's pace. 

He's never felt anything like this, never dared to touch himself this way, never allowed himself more than the thrill of running his fingers over his own rim in the shower, daring to touch that secret place only in the dark where no one can ever see. The sensation of Dean's finger inside him is everything and not enough all at once and he groans.

"You okay, Cas?" 

"I need more, Dean, please, can you..." and Dean is inserting another finger before he's even finished his sentence. "Oh yes, yes," he whimpers, practically crying in pleasure. "That's what I want, feels so good." He hitches his leg even higher on Dean's hip, exposing himself further. "Don't stop, please, I'm going to..."

He jacks himself faster and Dean obliges with his own pace, and right before Castiel topples over the edge Dean shoves both fingers deep inside him. Castiel is about to beg him to keep going, he can't stop, he can't stop now Castiel is so _close_ , but then those fingers curl inside him as if searching for something and suddenly...

He cries out, burying his face in Dean's neck as he comes all over his own fist, chasing the sensation of Dean's fingers as they press and rub at his prostate, feeling the pleasure radiate through his body to his toes. Dean rolls him onto his back as he works him through his climax, gazing down at him with a triumphant expression. Castiel can't look away from those determined green eyes, not for a second, and it's not until he finally collapses bonelessly against the mattress that Dean pulls his fingers out. He kisses Castiel gently before rolling off the bed, and as the water runs in the bathroom Castiel stares at the ceiling and tries to catch his breath.

Dean comes back with a wet washcloth, his stomach glistening damp from his own cleanup. He smiles softly at Castiel as he wipes off his hand before cleaning the spend from his stomach, then gently tends to the rest of him before throwing the cloth back into the bathroom and stretching out beside him. 

Castiel is still staring at the ceiling, only the hand resting on his chest telling him he's still alive as he feels it rise and fall with each breath. In his peripheral vision he can see Dean prop himself on one elbow. 

"What are you thinking about?" 

"Bernini," Castiel replies without thinking, then mentally cringes.

"Dead sculptors are exactly what I want all my lovers to have on the brain post-orgasm. I have exceeded my own expectations." 

Castiel laughs before turning on his side and curling into Dean, nuzzling at his throat, and he can feel Dean smile into his hair as he puts an arm around him.

"It just...I've been a priest for ten years, and devout for much longer than that, but I've never felt the type of ecstasy in God's presence that Bernini depicts on Teresa of Avila's face. Not once. Only you make me feel that." 


End file.
